


Let Down Your Hair

by anaraine



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5064490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaraine/pseuds/anaraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Squalo makes a promise, and he keeps it. There is no 'try' involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Down Your Hair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Etnoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etnoe/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Не стригись](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990824) by [Jewellery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jewellery/pseuds/Jewellery)



> I wanted to write about Squalo and ridiculous hair care routines because  _ long hair, _ but I couldn't talk about Squalo's hair without talking about Xanxus, and things kind of just... went. I hope that the years mellow these angry assassins out, because being that mad all the time has to be exhausting.
> 
> Happy Halloween!

Squalo makes a promise. His hair grows and things are different. Irritating. He can still see through the strands that grow over his eyes —it is nothing like wearing a blindfold— but they do interfere with his line of sight and flick against his nose. It is a persistent itch that can't be helped by scratching. He'd like to pin his hair back with some of the supplies they use for infiltration missions, but... That feels like admitting defeat, _before_ he's even really begun. Promises and oaths of loyalty - they shouldn't be easy things.

(It isn't. There is no such thing as easy when it comes to following an empty echo, a pale memory of what had burned so bright. Squalo looks at himself in the mirror and watches his hair grow longer over a series of months, holding onto stupid, stubborn hopes. He knows. He _knows_. But his promise is not hollow, even if it can never—)

**◊◊◊**

Things are better, when his hair has grown out past his shoulders. He can tuck it behind his ears and trust that it will say there, at least until he dips his head forward. He has established himself as the head of the Varia again, but he refuses to answer to 'boss'. 'Captain' fits him much better, and in any case, he's only holding the Varia until their _real_ boss returns. Lussuria is surprisingly helpful when it comes to keeping the Varia on a leash, restless under the untrusting eyes of the main house and the CEDEF. He is significantly less helpful when he is tutting over the state of Squalo's hair, fingers outstretched and attempting to touch.

(Squalo does take his advice, as much as it makes him grind his teeth. Luss knows what he's talking about when it comes to hygiene. The conditioner he's started using —a plain, boring scent— has made an incredible difference to the rough and dry ends he's started to notice. He hadn't quite resigned himself to trimming the ends, and the conditioner seems to have staved off that appointment with a pair of scissors. Long hair? Sure, fine; he's just eccentric. But his position is not as firm as he would like, and he can not afford to look like a slob.)

**◊◊◊**

When his hair has grown to the center of his back, Squalo spends a half hour every night under the hot spray of his shower. Shampoo and conditioner are a given, and it takes time to scrub out the blood or grime or whatever the fuck else has gotten into his hair that day. When he has no missions lined up and can afford to use scented products, he also uses deep conditioner.

He still won't let Lussuria get his fingers his hair, no matter how much the man whines and pouts. (It's not _his_ to touch.) But not taking advantage of that resource means that Squalo has had to invest serious time in learning how to braid, and then how to braid without tangling the bulk of his hair in his prosthetic. If he has enough presence of mind before he collapses into his bed —and he does, more often than not— he braids his hair. It is worth every single bit of time he saves in the morning.

**◊◊◊**

By the time his hair reaches his hips, Squalo is sleeping on silk pillowcases and sheets. _It makes a fucking difference._ Satin will do when he's desperate, but anything else is right out. It is such a fucking pain to wash blood out of his hair that he practices how to shift his weight and flick his head when making killing strikes, so that no arterial spray will ever touch him. (It has done some interesting things to his reputation, that he can commit messy, violent murders and walk away from them as pristine as when he started.)

The weight of his hair is heavy, but he can't imagine himself without it. It is a part of him. It has defined him for the past eight years. The stupid, stubborn hope that grew in time with his hair is finally coming to fruition. Squalo's boss, the man he'd pledged his loyalty to— He's coming home. After eight long years of trying to extract him from the depths of the Vongola mansion, he's _finally_ coming home - and it isn't because the Varia succeeded. The thought is bitter enough to make him gag, but he'll go along with the Cervello for as long as it is necessary. (For as long as it takes his boss to order him otherwise.)

**◊◊◊**

After everything, Squalo's hair swishes at the backs of his knees. The fact that he's alive still surprises him from time to time, and he's starting to wonder what he's going to do when his hair grows longer. Luss claims that he's going to lose his hair to stress before it comes to that, pointing at any long strands of silver he's shed in the Varia mansion as evidence. Squalo looks at his fucking hairbrush, the hairball he pulls from it every night, and the thickness of the remaining hair attached to his head and laughs in Luss' face. (Then he stalks off to brood, because it is increasingly likely that he will still be alive in another ten years, and his hair is going to be dragging on the fucking ground.)

For the most part, things remain the same. The Varia is still a madhouse, wild dogs on a loose leash held in the hands of the wildest of them all. Xanxus still burns as brightly as he did as a young man, though his rage has banked over the years. With time has come a strange type of patience, a predator capable and willing to wait for the perfect, devastating strike. Bel is still a menace, Levi is still an idiot, and Luss would probably kill someone if it let him get his hands into Squalo's hair.

But things have also changed, in ways that Squalo had never expected. The most surprising of those changes, is that his silk pillowcases and sheets have mostly migrated to Xanxus' suite. He doesn't always sleep in Xanxus' rooms, but he does it often enough that he wants his fucking silk pillowcases. He knows his hair won't be braided those nights, let down either by Xanxus' demands or his impatient fingers, and Squalo is going to mitigate the damage in the ways he can. (It is also a small kindness he can offer to a man who would reject such things on principle, even if the silk is gentler on Xanxus' scarred skin.)

Squalo makes a promise, and he keeps it. There is no 'try' involved.


End file.
